If Ivery was restless, Mary was worse.  She seemed suddenly to have come on the traces of her friends.  In the St Anton valley the snow had stopped and she let down the window for air, for she was choking with suspense.  The car rushed past the station, down the hill by Peter’s cottage, through the village, and along the lake shore to the Pink Chalet.

Ivery halted it at the gate.  ‘See that you fill up with petrol,’ he told the man.  ’Bid Gustav get the Daimler and be ready to follow in half in hour.’

He spoke to Mary through the open window.

’I will keep you only a very little time.  I think you had better wait in the car, for it will be more comfortable than a dismantled house.  A servant will bring you food and more rugs for the night journey.’

Then he vanished up the dark avenue.

Mary’s first thought was to slip out and get back to the village and there to find someone who knew me or could take her where Peter lived.  But the driver would prevent her, for he had been left behind on guard.  She looked anxiously at his back, for he alone stood between her and liberty.

That gentleman seemed to be intent on his own business.  As soon as Ivery’s footsteps had grown faint, he had backed the car into the entrance, and turned it so that it faced towards St Anton.  Then very slowly it began to move.

At the same moment a whistle was blown shrilly three times.  The door on the right had opened and someone who had been waiting in the shadows climbed painfully in.  Mary saw that it was a little man and that he was a cripple.  She reached a hand to help him, and he fell on to the cushions beside her.  The car was gathering speed.

Before she realized what was happening the new-comer had taken her hand and was patting it.

* * * * *

About two minutes later I was entering the gate of the Pink Chalet.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Cage of the Wild Birds

‘Why, Mr Ivery, come right in,’ said the voice at the table.  There was a screen before me, stretching from the fireplace to keep off the draught from the door by which I had entered.  It stood higher than my head but there were cracks in it through which I could watch the room.  I found a little table on which I could lean my back, for I was dropping with fatigue.

Blenkiron sat at the writing-table and in front of him were little rows of Patience cards.  Wood ashes still smouldered in the stove, and a lamp stood at his right elbow which lit up the two figures.  The bookshelves and the cabinets were in twilight.

‘I’ve been hoping to see you for quite a time.’  Blenkiron was busy arranging the little heaps of cards, and his face was wreathed in hospitable smiles.  I remember wondering why he should play the host to the true master of the house.

Ivery stood erect before him.  He was rather a splendid figure now that he had sloughed all disguises and was on the threshold of his triumph.  Even through the fog in which my brain worked it was forced upon me that here was a man born to play a big part.  He had a jowl like a Roman king on a coin, and scornful eyes that were used to mastery.  He was younger than me, confound him, and now he looked it.